


Shooting Star

by Clevertyrant



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: A slight bit of angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Porn With Plot, and a lot of sex, but there's also plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 17:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14049039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevertyrant/pseuds/Clevertyrant
Summary: Kiichi had one dream: to be the brightest star on the pitch.Half of such oneiric wish has been granted.However, in the wrong place.





	Shooting Star

He's the undisputed star in there.

Each eye, each breath, each single person in the room and outside it live for him, work for him, worship him. And there's nothing else he revels in the most. At first he wasn't certain this path would satisfy him; a place like this doesn't suit one of his social stature.

This is what many would define a gutter, someplace that must solely come at mind as last resort.

He had other plans a long time ago, when he was still a brat, when his dreams flew high and he had wings on his heels. He truly thought, believed with all himself he could make it in professional soccer. Yeah, he did... and got scouted too and for that short span the world truly glittered bright in his eyes. He was the star, at that time, too. However, not the only one. Soon enough, when his horizons grew wider also the reality beyond them magnified... sharpening details he never noticed before... details that he…

"Let's wrap for today."

The voice that derails his train of thoughts is sharp, an obnoxious monotone; so gruff it makes his ear bleed. Kiichi's head jerks up and in his almost vermillion-like gaze burns with scorching humiliation. "What?! Wait!"

In a moment he's on his feet and ready for the siege, because he knows very well how this will end up. The producer has turned on his heels already and when it happens, can mean just that he's no longer willing to take shit. Shit that Kiichi is going to stick up his ass if he just dares call it a day.

He's walking briskly behind the shorter man now, ignoring the tiny assistant bouncing like mad by his side trying to uselessly drape a bathrobe on his shoulders. "Over my dead body yer gonna—"

"I did already." No matter how long it's been, that freak never changes. He didn't change one iota of who he was back then and won't change not even if he prays Arameans Gods. Not only his personality. Even now, as he slips into a stupid windbreaker, the striking pattern of his mismatched clothing urges the beholder to rip eyes off the sockets. Kimishita is about to open the door, but Kiichi slams it close from above. The producer doesn't shudder, neither moves.

"If you dare take just one a step further—" The presence of Kiichi hardly goes unnoticed, especially when he looms over people from behind, his palm flat against the steely surface before him and his eyes boring holes on the other's back.

"I don't care." Kimishita responds.

He's not easily pliable.

"... and leave me hangin' like this—" it’s a habit hard to die, the one that sees them always talking over each other’s.

"I don't care." and being stubborn.

Thus, when the stubborn plays hard to get.

"I swear—"

The other stubborn has to stop the chase.

"I don't care."

“Oh, really?!”

Even one like Kiichi can claim exclusive ownership on specific trump cards. So he casually leans forward, just slightly, far enough to hover above the other's shoulder but still close to reach his earshell. His mouth curls upward, imperceptibly.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard later you'll drain yer cum stocks. Still don't care, Akkun?"

Ooshiba Kiichi might not be the sharpest tool in the shed; he himself doesn't deny it anymore, being an adult doesn't necessarily mean he's wiser or anything but just that if life on one side has taught him that it doesn't hand things over on a silver plate as he believed not long ago, on the other, assured him that nobody else on the face of the damn earth knows the other man like he does. As he expected, in fact, even if apparently his words seemed not to elicit any kind of reaction the result of them is clearly detectable on the tip of Kimishita's ears and on his nape, now slightly visible under the low pigtail he's used to sport when strong lights are on and the temperature of the studio reaches more than seventy-three degrees. Kimishita is not so easily impressed, he's been working in his same field since he graduated from University. For a stupid reason, to keep an even stupider promise made while drinking and fucking.

But fuck it. Kiichi's smirk grows winder and even secretly fond. Kimishita's skin isn't that red because of his dirty talking. It's red because…

"Don't call me like that..." Even if his timbre is resolute he trails off and that last word stutters a bit, almost inaudibly. He can tell him he hates that nickname how much he wants, like Hell will he believe him. "Anyway," finally Kimishita turns - and he fools nobody, his face is radiating heat just by looking at it - pushing Kiichi away like a tedious fly, "put on some clothes.’’ He drops it like that, without so much as looking at him, not even a sneaky peak. But if it bothers Kiichi in the least he doesn't show it, on the contrary, he looks around to ascertain if Kimishita is really talking to him. "S' that sarcasm or something?"

"Do I look like someone that would crack jokes in my workplace?" No. Definitely not. Not when his business face is in place like that, something that screams _give me profit_ with the cold and immovable façade of a professional serial killer.

"So," Kiichi goes on, arms crossed tight against his bare chest that's puffed out like that of some animal on display. "Means we’re gonna shoot?"

Atsushi stares at him and his lids narrow progressively like these of a gemologist that's trying to tell a jewel from a rock. "Are you going to jerk off like a middle schooler again?"

Kiichi’s hands fly ready on his naked, taut hips while he bends a little backwards puffing out his chest. "Of course 'm gonna do that! I'm a pro, who d' ya take me for?" Something tells Kimishita that Kiichi has been rehearsing that sentence in his head for a long, long time, since he didn't even bother registering his query. He'd point it out, but he doesn't. It feels good to see him so inclined to take his work seriously, for once. Or maybe... he simply doesn't reproach because that old stinging pain resurfaces each time Kiichi shows that side of him. He never asked if he's just acting that, too. Like the pleasure Kiichi gifts to the camera every day, like that he reserves to him... what before was genuine, pure... is it still there? Are you just a full time actor now or there's still a bit of you in there? Kimishita mentally shakes his head for the umpteenth time in years. Since that time, when Kiichi has seen all his dreams... their dreams shatter before his eyes Kimishita's got that feeling in the back of his mind. Albeit he behaves like he did back then, there's a part of him that doesn't believe it. And he hates it.

This time, Kimishita indulges and lets his gaze linger on Kiichi’s body more than usual. On his face, the sharp edges hidden under messy locks- the prominent jawline highlighted by the fact he's secretly gritting his teeth underneath. How alluring are the firm muscles of the neck in traction, when he proudly tilts it upwards; the adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a knot of saliva.

And then his gaze slithers down, framing the curve of the collarbone...where he stops.

Kiichi is looking at him in return. Kimishita doesn't glance up, his lids snap shut abruptly.

"Good. Get your ass back in there, then." In a few steps Kimishita breezes past the other, heading to the filming area once again. "This is the last time I heed your fickleness." He adds, his lips pursed ever so slightly.

Kiichi smiles.

"Ya say that all the time." However, his reply doesn't get a comeback.

Touché.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they had to call the staff back once again. Kimishita's flushed cheeks lie hidden behind a foam cup of steamy coffee; he's embarrassed again and doesn't like the feeling even one bit. Not only he's angry at himself for having let his guard down and thus; once again turned a blind eye on the matter, but also for dragging all the team in his stupid, little vengeful fits. The pattern is always the same, Kiichi fucks something up and he responds with dramatic exits. At least, in the past he had the guts to throw tantrums at him. Why is it that he behaves like a cheated on old maiden now?

The fact he's thinking that is even more disturbing. That's not it. He's doing what's the best for the movie, if the actor acts like a fucktard he must be removed from the stage. That's all.

Then again, why is he here to begin with?

His eyes fall on the bed sitting at the center of the room, countless people encircling it, phonics, photographers, technicians, steadicam operators, make-up artists, hair stylists... all there to make one man a vice, someone people won't look away from, someone that will beguile, thrill and own men and women; violating their privacy and intimacy, goading and titillating their wildest fantasies. This is one of the more difficult shoots, especially for a man. It's more easier to stimulate excitement when there's a co-star on the stage; it's enough for whoever watches the movie to step in the actor's shoes; it makes things lived in third-person, an excuse to think what he or her is doing isn't so lewd, after all. But what happens when it comes to this? When who watches the movie must feel the sensations in first-person? Every motion, expression and whisper are played to drive the spectator insane. So that he or her will feel the protagonist, so that the actor can become the unquestioned man of their fantasies.

This is the first time for Kiichi, though.

His first time going solo. Which will be a success or a fiasco. Kimishita’s fingers sink with too much pressure in the cup. It is appalling, how fast he climbed the stairs of notoriety in just a few years. What this man possesses; goes beyond simple talent in a sport. Beyond natural charms. Whatever he does... when he believes it, he makes the impossible become possibility. Why is it, so; that he gave up so easily on his dreams?

When the lights change intensity and the ambience bedims, Kimishita expression changes too and so does his whole countenance. There's a moment in this specific universe when a man has to switch to working mode only. If he'd let his emotions run wild, probably, he wouldn't have been able to make it in this industry, or in any at all.

He must stop believing in promises.

They always end up fucking up his life.

However, he can't help it. Can't help wanting to bring that man to the top… wherever, whenever, at any cost.

At last, grey irises latch onto Kiichi, cold steel against flesh. His mouth opens.

But the word start, which was about to roll on his tongue and out of his mouth doesn't come out. There's a tight knot that hinders his throat and his eyes imperceptibly widen, when hot, brown irises flicker to him; just for a second and the intensity that gaze holds in that short span of time is enough to pin him against an invisible wall and convey that unspoken sentence with the strength of a maelstrom; Kiichi’s mouth smirks it: this is a challenge.

Arrogant. Egoist. Pretending to always have and know what he wants, where he wants it, when he wishes it. He's like that. Kimishita knows well... but as well he knows he's no different. For that reason, he curls his fingers around the cup with more emphasis, crumpling the sides of it with a soft crack. Whoever looks at him, in this moment, would think he's about to lose it.

They'd miss the large, satisfied and as perilous smile hidden behind the styrofoam.

"Action."

As soon as Kimishita's voice leaves the room, silence, at the same time fills it. The only allowed sounds are the quiet rustle of sheets under Kiichi's weight and the slow, calibrated breathing escaping parted lips. The script, apparently, is easy. A love hotel and one man inside; a decidedly smitten someone waiting for his partner to show up, a partner that never came. Thus frustration and want, unspent desire and rage are all pent up in that angry arousal he was denied to sate... but still, the man has his delirious mind split between despair and desire, brokenhearted, he imagines what would have been if... the other person hadn't abandoned him, if they had come, what would have been like... if they were together now. Because even though a part of him despises the other, he can't stop loving them. Sappy and dramatic. Just the shit a particular audience wants and that Kiichi is neither particularly good at, or fond of.

Fantastic and... emotions, uh? The irony.

When Kiichi's eyes close for a while, there's just a particular event in his life he can associate to all that turmoil; and one face, in particular; along with it.

So, it's almost automatic for his breathing to start rushing behind firmly pressed lips. He falls back disorderly on the mattress he’s sitting on; a hand cards nervously through disheveled hair. A jacket has been haphazardly thrown on his shoulders, matching a nauseatingly posh shirt he was so used to wear just until high school it almost seems made to be worn from and just him. There's a necktie around his neck. He hates them with a passion. Not just those... that setting, the mood; they’re exactly the carbon copy of five years before, and he doesn't need any acting to evoke the angry-drunk mood of that night. It was a fine night though. A good fuck that was made of many ‘I can’t, I don’t want’ and ‘no, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.’

When he looks up once again to the camera, there's annoyance in his eyes, lips are flat in a thin line, brows furrowed in a scowl. If he didn’t stay…

He'd fucking give more damns that he thought he would. Because even now, as his mind replays it, if he imagines how could have been if Kimishita had just ditched him that night; his whole body shakes with rage and disappointment and... a longing... so strong, hard and mindfucking he didn't feel in... how long?

He wants to fucking slip his hand in his pants and jerk off like crazy, because suddenly, a rush of adrenaline hit his every nerve; blood started to flows faster, so fast his heartbeat doesn't match the pulse he feels beating against his neck anymore. Is he truly a pro? He can't focus.

He can just imagine, clearly, all too clearly, what he wants.

And what he wants is what counts.

Falling on his back has never been so easy, slowly leaning on one elbow, his head dipped backward just a bit; the hand still sank in his hair slithers downward, on his forehead where it stops like a blindfold. One finger reaches for the knot of the tie hastily yanking at it until comes undone. The silk whispers around the collar angrily while the cloth silently drops on the bed.

It’s not precisely what he wants, but who.

He knows he's watching him.

If he keeps doing that...

If he keeps watching and over him, like he did a long time ago. Like he did for all the years they have been together.

If he does, then...

_I'll do it too._

How is it, that he always manages to find him?

Even now... he doesn't need to really see Kimishita to know exactly where his hands would be.

His fingers work on the buttons, one after another, until the shirt comes loose on the sides of his chest— it rises and falls, bare and fevered under the palm of his hand that just brushes against the skin at first, rubbing and teasing a nipple betwixt fingers before snaking further down over the breastbone in slow and vexing strokes — cruel and taunting, like Kimishita's touch; that indulges on the same spot for too long and drives him insane each fucking time, a touch Kiichi hates and craves, because it’s maddening, suffocating, strong. So strong that even now, through his own hand, sends shivers up and down his spine.

Ah. Yes. Like that. Still hidden behind his palm and peeking between fingers his eyes fleet to the camera once again. Dark. Hungry.

Through it, through just a lens— is where their gazes lock.

Kimishita’s breath itches slightly, imperceptibly, in his already parched throat. It’s work. Yet the throbbing in his chest is unmistakable. It’s work. Yet his pupils are dilated within wide eyes. The blood… it rushes angry in his veins because he recognizes each and every gesture. That bastard is turning around Kimishita’s own weapon against him… baring their innermost intimacy to the world.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It has always been like that. The fool is always one step ahead; no matter what floor he steps on.

_Focus._

He chides himself.

_Focus._

Never once, has he just watched from the sidelines, after all.

_I’m still the playmaker._

Kimishita’s mouth curls again, wide, under the tenuous light cast from the tiny screen in front of him— it lits just that spot of his face; like a warning.

“I’m changing the script.”

\--------

_Don’t play too much. People don’t watch you for the plot._

With a shrug Kiichi shoulders off his shirt, the sleeves fall along his arms, amassing in a pool of cloth at his elbows. A vagrant hand hovers above his crotch, he feels it. It’s hard, a lot, and he didn’t even touch himself that much. And fuck, it hurts in so many ways. He’s not a pro. Not at all. Not even here. Shame. That shame arouses him even more. How did Kimishita use to call him back then? A rutting buck.

He closes his eyes.

Did he change?

Isn’t he one anymore?

_I’ll show you. I’m still the same._

His fingers take hold of the fly, starting to pull it down. He can’t wait, he can’t wait, he can’t wait.

He doesn’t continue, though. Another hand stops him.

His eyes shot open and remain wide for a long, long time in which he can’t discern if what he sees in front of him is reality or still fantasy.

Kimishita stands in front of him, harmed of an unreadable expression. Cool and hot, a kind of cool and hot that just that man possesses. He looks like winter in Hell and Kiichi’s breath catches in his throat. He’s seen him thousand times, in every way, under any circumstance and yet is enough that glare to set his every patch of skin on fire; even now. He’s not even naked. He’s wearing… something… that… Kiichi doesn’t even register because he’s already stripping him bare.

“Slacking off, aren’t you?” Kimishita enquires, opening his palm flat and pressing it on Kiichi’s erection without preambles, while one of his leg orders space between his spread, long legs.

“Thought you’d never come.”

Kiichi’s reply seems to satisfy the producer, extolling a tiny smile that disappears immediately behind a commanding façade, seems like Kiichi didn’t need solicitation to adapt the script to the unexpected. Is he acting, though?

“That’s yet to be se—” he did forget it. That Kiichi is as greedy as he’s rapidly conquered by instinct. And he isn’t surprised in the least, when he has to swallow his words because the other has just grabbed his arm and thus thrown him off balance; making him fall forward, in the stupid attempt to kiss him.

Surely he hasn’t forgotten that Kimishita has never won a match without knowing his opponents’ tactics inside-out. And this kind of field is one he’s played on too many times. So his other hand readily lands on the other mouth with a slap before it has the opportunity to crash on his. Kiichi frowns at him. Kimishita smirks. “Lame.” He breathes on his face.

Kiichi tightens the hold he has on Kimishita’s wrist, a lot, but it doesn’t hurt. The way he digs his nails in the flesh means he wants him. Wants him now.

_Rutting buck._

Kimishita inches down, and reaching his own hand opens his mouth, his tongue begins to trace the knuckles, curling around each of them.

Kiichi’s gaze doesn’t move from his, though, openly defying him, provoking him--- and Kimishita can feel the tip of the other tongue on his palm, titillating the flesh, pushing through the openings to get past the fingers. To get past defense.

Then he concedes, as usual, just a bit, because it seems his fate to grant that man’s every wish; after all. He promised. As soon as he’s given green light, when Kimishita opens his fingers; Kiichi’s tongue slips through, searching for Kimishita’s like a starved man. Eager. Willful. Reckless. He isn’t allowed to take all of it, so, instead of licking on the other’s tip he sucks the muscle in his mouth. Kimishita emits a low protest, that dies in his throat suffocated by the increasing need of air.

Kimishita’s hand slowly slips away, falling on Kiichi’s chest to push him backward. From experience, he knows for certain that Kiichi goes into blackout the moment their lips join; he can’t focus on more tasks at a time and kissing is something that takes over every other thought.

So he goes lax under Kimishita and allows to be straddled, falling on the mattress like a trained marionette, lapping and smacking and opening his mouth wide when Kimishita’s tongue sinks deeper.

“We’re…” Kimishita’s voice is hushed, not yet fully hoarse but still nothing more than a whisper “acting…don’t forget.” He manages to say, brushing on Kiichi’s lips and capturing them in slow, calibrated kisses.

“I ‘how.” The other assures, his hands, in fact are already on the move. They search for the hem of Kimishita’s shirt, disorderly pulling out and up the fabric to finally get some skin under his hands. And his hands are hot, incredibly hot when they settle on Kimishita’s sides. Yes, they’re hot and the thought makes Kimishita arch his back and thus stray away from the kiss.

“Why are you here?” Kiichi asks, breathing hard, while he gets up to move against Kimishita’s exposed chest, casually biting a patch of skin just under the breast. His gaze is filled with languor, a kind of languor that can be deciphered with a word Kimishita doesn’t wish to think about at the moment. They’re not in their bed. That’s the set of a damn movie. Plus, Kiichi is strangely talkative, he’s never that verbose during sex. May it be… that he’s underestimating him? “You seemed quite in trouble, as usual.” Kimishita’s words receive a stronger bite as a response and that makes him shiver, no, that’s not it. It is not the bite, is the way that bastard is looking at him that makes it hard, that also make him so painfully hard. It’s like observing someone he knows well and at the same time fucking with a stranger. It’s frightening. He’s frightening. When he decided to step into the movie, it wasn’t just matter of revenge. He wanted to reinstate him in the right track, to make him remember that he was supposed to act. But the truth is, Kiichi never stopped doing that. For that reason, he can’t really tell anymore who’s his partner and who’s the actor. He’s the one that doesn’t know how to act. Kimishita after all, is not an actor. He’s just good at feigning things in real life. Not in front of him, though. Never in front of him.

“Ya know, ‘m still mad at you.” Kiichi lets out a throaty snarl, the last word barely uttered against Kimishita’s skin--

And there's just time to lock eyes again, when all the seductive, laid-back atmosphere changes abruptly.

With a grunt, Kiichi hauls Kimishita under him---and pins down his wrists at the sides of his head with all the strength he possesses. And Kimishita is so taken aback that for a moment he forgets to breathe, staring up bewildered at the man on top of him. What in the Hell…

Kiichi lowers down enough to let his mouth brush against Kimishita’s ear that's partially hidden to the camera, twisting in a way that makes it look like he's licking or biting it.

“Nice expression you got there.” He confesses, secret and low, his typical mocking laugh tickles against Kimishita’s burning, ashamed skin like it did way back, when they were nothing more than kids.

Piece of shit. Fucking son of a bitch. He outplayed him!

Kimishita hisses, unbelieving to how naive he's been. Letting Kiichi drag him around like a beginner. He's no actor but sure as Hell knows better than most how that business works. He’s the one, usually, that cuts scene on scene bitching about don’t let personal feelings interfere with work. Between them, he being the one yielding to genuine sexual pulsion is…

Unacceptable.

Even if his chest rises and falls too fast, unbridling a matching and arrhythmic breathing, he isn’t an amateur. Even if he’s staring at Kiichi with tantamount outrage and craving; that’s the face whoever would display in that situation. It doesn’t make him an amateur.

“What ‘re you lookin’ at, uh? Thought I’d stay put under you, like a bitch, after you let me wait for hours?”

Kiichi’s lids narrow and while he lifts his face upward a bit, the artificial lightning of the room cuts perfectly his squared, pronounced chin.

Kimishita swallows and bares his teeth, because he likes that.

Kiichi’s face coming near again, too near, he licks his lips and--

“You ain’t replyi--!!”

The spit that now trickles down the bridge of his nose wipes off that almighty smile in a second, which curves downward.

Kimishita’s puckered lips now curl up, derisive, his eyes sharp. “Aren’t you yapping too much for not being a bitch?”

Ah, yes; he can feel Kiichi’s grab tightening around his wrists like a rope. That gaze, Kimishita could recognize it everywhere. Even if he’s acting, Kiichi is still Kiichi and if there’s a thing he can’t tolerate is someone that underestimates him. And when it happens, he gathers all he’s got to prove the contrary.

That’s the most beautiful part of him. As beautiful is the wantonness that lits up his dark eyes. As once beautiful was his soccer. Hungry. Angry. Longing.

A butterfly of anticipation has started batting its wings in the pit of Kimishita’s stomach, but he hasn’t the time to taste it for Kiichi moves fast, dragging both the producer’s limbs overhead, and switching to holding both of them with one hand whilst climbs on top of him.

Kiichi leans a bit forward and licks away the saliva still slithering down his cheek with gusto. “Want the title that badly?” he queries, just a inch away from Kimishita’s mouth. Kimishita’s smirk grows wider. “Not until your pants and my pants are still on.” At his words, Kiichi can’t but instinctively grind on the hardness he feels beneath him. It’s so fucking difficult to look away from that delicious, wet and thin cupid’s bow that’s unwrapping just for him. Ready for a kiss or… to hotly envelope all the length of his cock. Fuck. Damn. Shit. If he wasn’t trained enough, Kiichi is sure he could come just from the thought. For his part, Kimishita doesn’t put much effort into trying to wriggle off his prison of flesh, on the contrary, he seems almost delighted when his arms sink into the mattress together with his body in a heavy creak.

“See? A bitch.” Kimishita repeats, and what rumbles from his throat threatens to really put off Kiichi on the spot this time.

Damn him.

Hastily, maybe too hastily, Kiichi throws his free hand between his legs, starting to unbuckle and pull at Kimishita’s pants. His breath comes in shallow and sharp huffs from his nose and dies on his companion’s mouth and… it’s dangerously contagious because instinctively, Kimishita tilts his head backward, and at the movement - as if it were its natural continuation - Kiichi’s mouth slips down and along on the arch of the neck surrendering to the tantalizing offering, forgetting the garments he was removing from Kimishita knees-high and hurrying on to grab his cock, now fully exposed and hard against his thigh. The first stroke steals a hold-back moan, Kimishita’s head dips more and his body, every inch of that shudders. “Don’t you... think I’d know... how to do that by myself?” However, it’s never so good.

“Bet you think ‘bout me every single time.” Kiichi’s voice echoes through his throat in a low, chuckling growl along wet smacks.

“What if I said…” Kiichi’s hand tightens around the base of Kimishita’s cock, going up slowly and tugging at the flesh just a bit harder when it comes down. “N- _oh_?!”

“Sounded more like a yes to me.” Listen to that buffon, is he having fun, isn’t he? But Kimishita can’t deny that one, because it’s evidently true both in their current fake world and reality. Also, it’s maddening that he can’t move his hands, well, he could… if he wanted. But the truth is that… Kimishita doesn’t dislike being pampered for once.

“Weren’t you… mad?” He reminds him, just for good measure. Kiichi’s hand gives the cock a last tug but instead of stopping, slithers down cupping and fondling the balls.

“Yeah.” There’s that interesting round bone peering from under Kimishita’s shirt that begs for attention and who’s Kiichi to deny a suckling to it? His lips sheath it, starting to suck avidly on the portion of flesh. “Tas why… ‘m doin’ things that cheer me up.”

Kimishita doesn’t know if the shaky exhale that betrayed him was the result of pleasure or Kiichi’s words, nonetheless, what he said, Kimishita would call cheating. Because once again Kiichi identity blurs between himself and his character. And he feels foolish for thinking he’d rather wanted him to be himself in that moment. How can he unfuck up his brain?

“If you jack me off… means you’re gonna be the bitch, after all.” To be frank, Kimishita is reaching a point in which he doesn’t register what he himself he’s saying anymore. The mounting pleasure growing in his groin calls just for stupid dirty talking. Who’s the fucking bitch?

“Not if you come before me.” Kiichi leaves the bone with a satisfied pop, just in time to meet Kimishita’shalf-warning, half-lustful stare. So that was the idea all along. The bastard. Kimishita flexes his legs and knees Kiichi in the back, causing the pace of his hand to break and his jaw to crash on his chest with a humph.

“Let’s play field's even. Turn your ass this way and I’ll show you who comes first.” Kimishita’s timbre is imperative, albeit he’s panting way too much for his own tastes.

When Kiichi’s eyes latch onto his again, Kimishita can glimpse that the suggestion has had the desired effect. Just that smile is enough to tell that Kiichi likes either the idea and the challenge, a lot. It’s astounding how perceptive that man can be on certain grounds. If he applied the same strategy also in every other part of his life he’d be a real genius. Who said something similar once? Ah. Better he turns his brain off before it turns off everything else.

“So if I win, I get to fuck you?” Kiichi’s comment is dropped over his shoulder, while he adjusts backwards on Kimishita’s lap and ungracefully takes off the partner’s pants that were still hanging half-knee from before. “If you win.” Kimishita remarks with a small smirk, blindly unzipping Kiichi’s slacks from behind and casually slipping a hand into his pants. Kiichi jolts imperceptibly at the sly hand wrapping around his hardness and lets out an appreciative hum. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.” He continues, stroking a cool finger over the head of the cock already slick with precum and slowly freeing it from the unnecessary garments. Kiichi’s breath catches immediately in his throat and his hips, as if on command start buckling toward the hand. “Don’t rub it that way---yeah, shit-” the problem (or fortune) of acting with Kimishita is that the bastard knows all his weak spots and sure as Hell won’t skimp on using all his knowledge to his advantage. “Fuck.” The thing he’s doing with his thumb, that circular-like friction around the crown barely hovering on it makes Kiichi’s eyes flutter closed for a second, he stands just there, kneeling on Kimishita’s lap and licking lips. “There--… the...oi, hands down.” Promptly, Kiichi grabs the infamous hand and peels it off pulling down his pants and stretching his legs enough, above Kimishita’s head to remove the clothing definitely with a kick.

“Ugly.” Kimishita remarks in a whisper, seizing a hip to drag Kiichi’s ass closer to his face to take a quick bite of it.

“Thought ya liked my as--” Kiichi’s last words get sucked in his mouth and swallowed down along a hissed moan, when Kimishita’s tongue takes over the scene in one languid swipe just in between his buttocks. Time to get to work seriously until he’s still got some parvence of sanity, because once lost that, knowing himself, acting or not, he’s going berserk until the end.

Thus leaning in amidst shivers, Kiichi grabs Kimishita’s cock and curves enough to take it in his mouth, the way it just twitched - and he’s not even closed his lips around it - speaks volumes of how much the other his aroused. Ah oh, fuck. If it doesn’t make him hornier. They rarely indulge over foreplay, maybe because they don’t have much time or because when heat kicks in they’re often in places where they shouldn’t have sex or because Kiichi is always too much eager and so much less patient than any average japanese…

It’s been so long. And Kimishita’s mouth and tongue are so hot and wet and slow against his skin that he’s already going mad. And going mad makes Kiichi suck harder, while his hand strokes faster up and down to accompany the crescendo of his shivers. Kimishita is trembling too and also holding back, even if he fools nobody. He can feel him gasping for air against the creak of his ass and his knees, that Kiichi’s elbows are brushing are jumpy as if the other wants to grind upward but is forcing his body not to. Never honest.

But one doesn’t need to be a porn actor to know that your partner’s voice is the thing that maxes out libido, his libido, the audience’s libido. And Kimishita too, must know that. However, Kimishita is also a prideful prick and won’t give in so soon. He needs constant encouragement to do things he normally doesn’t do. That’s why Kiichi was genuinely surprised when mr-pole-in-the-ass showed up on the set, conscious that showing his face to people wasn’t an option. He did it anyway, even if Kiichi still doesn’t grasp the reason. Who cares? He’s there, where he wanted him, with him, in his kingdom and that’s all Kiichi needs to know.

All he needs to know to give twice his best. Kiichi opens his mouth, enough to take in it more flesh, deeper, until his lips finally enclose round half the length of Kimishita’s cock. His hand falls again on the scrotum, giving the balls a light squeeze that makes Kimishita quiver harder under his belly. Just at the same time Kiichi’s eyes wide open as the familiar sensation of a digit gently stretching him open inside delves its way in his limbs, coils in his groin and expands in the marrow. Kimishita’s tongue dips in and out Kiichi’s ass together with his index, padding the invasive feeling the pushing gives. It’s weird as fuck each time but also makes Kiichi want to rock back toward it, to dig in, dig more, dig deeper, deeper until Kimishita’s finger will scrape against that specific spot that sometimes makes him want to come badly, other times takes ages to work but that nonetheless it’s nice. Very nice. He can finally feel it, the blood rushing around with no sense of direction, some of it goes filling Kiichi’s already heated cheeks, neck, ears, some other goes straight to his cock, making it grow and beat like the pulse in his chest, needy, hurtful. The skin is tugging and pulling at the tip and if Kimishita doesn’t touch now he’s… fuck… he’s going nuts!

With a throaty gasp, Kiichi lets go of Kimishita’s cock, “touch me, hurry… ” he growls and suddenly, it’s there, the desire, wish, urge to fuck, fuck Kimishita hard and senseless against whatever surface. He wants to fuck him so badly. He must win. Kimishita doesn’t respond nor satisfy his request, on the contrary, his finger sinks deeper in Kiichi’s ass, this time along something liquid, spit? Whatever it is, it makes that single digit slip in so easily and fast that...oh god---

“You deaf motherfucker?” Kiichi’s hands grab Kimishita’s legs, spreading and slamming them open on the mattress, if that piece of shit doesn’t listen, he’s gonna suck the life out of him. He knows precisely how to make him die for good.

Oh, if he likes when his body swells with adrenaline and want like that, he feels so damn high and good and the fingers now are two and scissoring in his asshole and his cock his screaming for attention, it’s gonna explode, it hurts, hurts, hurts and he’s gonna come, no! No! No! He can’t come.

Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck.

His mouth, blindly crashes against Kimishita’s scrotum, diving into the soft sac and enveloping one of the balls in his mouth, completely. This is his joker, his lifeline, his secret weapon and never once has Kimishita resisted it.

Kimishita, as script wanted, jolts immediately, stopping whatever he was doing to gape and writhe and gasp. His mouth changes direction and lands against Kiichi’s buttcheek at random, short of breath… no… inhaling and exhaling so fast that his lungs can’t register what goes in or out anymore . “Fuck-- Kiic--” he suppresses the last syllables, muffling his voice into a bite and at least evading to go out of character. He should’ve expected that coming. Why didn’t he? As Kiichi’s mouth sucks avidly downward Kimishita’s face contracts in all kinds of grimaces, pleasured, irked… but chiefly pleasured. And in a second moment he completely bids adieu to his stoic control, when did his back fall flat on the mattress? When did his fingers start grabbing the covers so vehemently? He’s wheezing and all he can hear and feel and see is Kiichi’s wet mouth against his skin and the slithery, squishy sound of his fingers so tight and perfect and good coiling around his cock, stroking and clutching and putting the right pressure in all the right places, oh fuck off, everything is the right place right now!

Kimishita greets his teeth, but air sibilates through them anyway, sharply and desperate and how is it possible that he’s already at his limit? His heartbeat grow faster, the pressure on his groin unbearable; he tugs at the sheets once and…

And his mouth opens in a mute exhale, his every muscle tenses at the same time and he finds himself rocking against Kiichi’s hand until a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over his entire body, breathtaking and toe-curling. And he’s lost his own challenge but doesn’t give a damn, oh no, not now, not in this moment when his every thought revolves around pleasure.

Kiichi moves away from the sticky mess on Kimishita’s stomach which incidentally also ended up dirtying his hand and face and hair and turns over, licking the palm of his hand and looking at Kimishita with that face. A face that screams: if I don’t have you now I’m going to regret it forever and god, god, you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Kimishita frowns at him, his mouth half-open and still panting, the muscles in his abdomen seem an ever contracting bundle of jumpy nerves and he hates, he hates so much when Kiichi looks at him like that, so eager and moony, and happy for winning stupid bets; so famished that whoever in that fucking studio could tell he’s smitten.

He’s totally ready to jump on him and… last two seconds, at best.

“Cut.” is the only thing Kimishita says out loud, in a throaty-like grumble that leaves Kiichi thunderstruck, with a panoramic-like hard-on in full display and the will to live totally drained from his face.

“W...wha…” he still stares at Kimishita, even when the camera stops rolling and a bunch of people pop up like unwanted cameos from every corner of the room, bringing towels and robes, make-up and stupid shit they don’t need. Kiichi’s face darkens, angry and dissatisfied.

“What the fuck? Are you kiddin’ me? Just because you lost a bet! That’s so childish Kimish---” but a finger falls on his mouth, shutting Kiichi up on the spot.

“I’m going to make you come now, we’ll take a break and reroll when it’s up again. We can’t have the star giving out after a bit of foreplay.”

Kiichi’s eyes narrow aggressively. “You don’t trust me.” He snarls, his eyebrows twitch slightly on his forehead.

“I know you, it’s different.” Kimishita’s gaze has turned cold and unrelenting, it’s clear that he’s giving orders, not suggesting changes.

“No, you think you know me!” Kiichi slaps his hand away, gets off from the bed and slips into the robe laid out for him, his limbs shaking like an earthquake. “That’s always been your problem.”

“Kiichi.”

“Well, flash-news…” He turns sharply toward Kimishita, “you know nothing, asshole!”

“Kiichi!”

“I’m gonna jack off somewhere so your movie won’t turn out shit, you happy? ‘Cause accordin’ to your half-assed perspective everythin’ ‘s got a script. Life has a script, working has a script, our relationship has a script! I bet even your shit has got a--”

“Don’t you dare involve our private life--”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have barged into the set to begin with If you didn’t want our private life to get in the way! You’re the one who called my name when was ‘bout to cum an’ I’m the one who takes the brunt of your mistakes!”

“I know! I know. And If you let me talk---”

“I listened to your shit for ten fucking years!” Kiichi’s head sags forward and Kimishita just stares at his back, his stomach churning in ways that he knows all too well.

“And I’ve got enough.” It’s all that Kiichi says, with a shrug, before marching away.

Kimishita’s fists clench tight along his sides. Their communication skills still suck, even after a decade.

“Fuck you, then.” And he’s no better than Kiichi now that turns on his heels and goes on the opposite side.


End file.
